


I Love You, Or Something.

by fairdeath



Category: Markiplier (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Cuddling, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, Pet Names, Second Person, petting, playing with hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4445606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairdeath/pseuds/fairdeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cherry on top is the man who is enjoying this by your side, head in your lap, staring at you like you hung the goddamn moon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love You, Or Something.

There aren’t too many things that fill you with utter and complete contentment. A solid internet connection, a marshmallow-y bed, and food in the fridge are all you need, really.

But that doesn’t mean you’re willing to give up what you currently have – or, rather, _who_ you currently have. While crisp morning air flitters into Mark’s apartment though open windows, clear sunlight beats down and entraps you in its warmth. The cherry on top is the man who is enjoying this by your side, head in your lap, staring at you like you hung the goddamn moon.

Faintly, the television plays the title screen to whatever game you were playing last time it was booted up; something dark; maybe Bloodborne? It’s been so long since you sat down to play that you can’t remember. Between the television and your feet, propped up on the coffee table, sits two matching cups filled with coffee far too sweet to do any good.

“It’s been forever since we did this; why did we ever stop?” Lazy Sundays had always been your favourite thing with Mark. Sleeping in, walking the apartment in pyjamas (or there lack of), playing video games together, just… basking in one another’s presence.

Mark’s large hand takes hold of your own, bringing it to his lips. “I refuse to think about it on lazy Sunday, bub,” he murmurs against the back of your hand, gravelled tones from sleep still lingering. Pressing his lips to the centre of your hand, you find yourself captivated by him once more. How did you deserve this; all of it? The handsome guy, the funny guy, the guy who loves you, who adores you all wrapped in one package?  

Pulling your hand from his, you bring it to his mane of hair. As you thread your fingers through his wild locks, you scratch at his scalp. The fact that Mark angles his hair more towards your hand and breathes a groan of pleasure does not go missed by you. Smiling, you watch his eyes flutter shut as your fingers etch patterns against his scalp, pressing harder in some areas and softly running your fingers by in others.

“I think this is why. I’d never get any work done if I’d have remembered how relaxing this is,” you hear him confess. Snorting at the statement, your other hand lifts from between Mark and the couch. Softly, you then continue your ministrations with fingertips over his lower stomach, between the hem of his flannel and jeans. You feel his abs flutter under the light touch, quickly realizing he wouldn’t be able to stay as still or calm if you continued the tickling sensation across his stomach. Pressing your fingers beneath the flannel, you pull your hand underneath, draping cold fingers and palm against his navel.

Grinning, he grips your wrist with his long fingers, wrapping them around it. Opening one eye, he looks to you, questioning eyebrow raised. “You’re _so_ lucky I love you,” he promises, struggling to form the words around the extremity of his grin.

A chuckle falls from your lips in response. “I’d say _you_ are,” you reply, fingers not stopping their actions against his scalp. “I’ve figured out why you love dogs so much. It’s because you are one,” you smirk, watching the way he leans into your touch. “What would you do without me here to scratch your head all the time? I’m not sure a back scratcher can give the same affect…” Trailing off, you slow the ministrations against his scalp. Watching his eyes open slowly, you see intensity in his eyes you’ve come to learn to recognise.

“I am lucky. I’ve got the best friend in the whole world who happens to love me as much as I love her, doofus,” he smiles adoringly at you, threading together the fingers that rest against his stomach with his own. His smile breaks for a moment, “And the sex is a pretty damn big bonus.” He adds with a shit-eating grin on his mouth.”

“You’re an idiot,” you mutter behind laughter, “you’re lucky I love you, or something.” Leaning down to his face, regardless of awkward angle, you press your lips to his forehead. Quickly, he unlinks his hand from yours, pressing into the couch cushion for leverage, the other coming to cup your face. Lifting from his position, he twists to sit cross legged by your side, eyes unmoving from your own.

“But I’m your idiot,” he reminds you. You hand that was previously running through his hair now rests at the base of his skull, dancing across the short hairs there. Pressing his forehead against yours, he looks into your eyes, assuring, trusting. “I love you,” he presses his lips to yours, thumb rubbing against its place by your cheek. Leaning back, he smirks, shrugging slightly, “or something.”

**Author's Note:**

> I recently started back at uni. I 100% forgot about the fact that my friend's best pal is a lankier, more angelic version of Mark. I spent the entire lecture muttering "I'm so fucking screwed for this course"  
> And I'm still TrashTM


End file.
